Another Brick Out Of The Wall
by clair beaubien
Summary: A dreaded WIP - Another brick has fallen and while Sam is recovering, Little Sammy pays Dean a visit. Teenage Dean pays Sam a visit. Did I mention - WIP? PLEASE NOTE: Chapter 5 got moved to Ch 3 because that's where it belongs chronologically. Sorry for any and all confusion.
1. Chapter 1

Another brick out of the wall. Another seven minutes of Dean not knowing if Sam would come back while he arced and spasmed and relived hell all over again. Another forty-five minutes of Sam _coming_ back, groggy and disoriented and insisting he was fine, until he was coherent enough to admit that this time he felt like he got hit by a planet _and_ a small moon.

This time, at least, they were in a halfway decent motel when Sam crashed, and he crashed half on his bed so Dean was able to muscle him all the way onto the mattress and keep him there until he came around. And when he finally felt OK enough to admit how bad he actually felt, he took one of the "effective" painkillers.

And they were _effective_.

So now, he was sound asleep in his bed, and Dean was sort of awake in his. It was late enough to go to sleep, early enough to _not_ go to sleep, and Dean was tired enough to not be able to make up his mind. But Sam _was_ asleep; the pill had taken him out so fast and deep, he was still in his clothes. But he was asleep. And Dean figured he should get his own sleep while he could.

He slid down, mostly sitting up against his pillows, and closed his eyes. Sleep still took its own sweet time and he'd just about decided to put the TV back on when he felt something moving on the mattress right next to him. He shot awake and sat up fast, and saw - _Sammy,_ sitting next to him on the bed.

Not _Sam;_ Dean's _big _little brother was still asleep over in his bed. No, sitting next to Dean, looking up at him with somber, sober eyes, was _Sammy, _Dean's _little_ little brother, maybe about three and half or four years old, if Dean was remembering correctly.

"Guess I fell asleep after all." Dean muttered to himself. Because this was a dream, or maybe an hallucination. Or maybe it didn't really matter.

Sammy kept looking up at Dean. He was wearing a green sweatshirt over a blue shirt that was inside out, black jeans, and one white sock and one black sock.

"You dressed yourself this morning, didn't you?" Dean asked.

"I dunno." Sammy answered.

Well, he wasn't asking who Dean was, which was typical in dreams, wasn't it? You knew who were people were and they knew who you were, even when none of you were who you were supposed to be.

"Okay...so - where'd you come from?"

Sammy shrugged.

"I dunno."

"Okaaaay." This was a weird dream. "Um - so - what brings you here?" Dean tried next. He knew it was maybe a stupid question but he wasn't sure what else to ask Dream-Sammy. But then the little lip went into a little pout, and the little chin went into a little quiver.

"_It was scary."_ Sammy whispered, and - dream or not - Dean reacted.

"Scary?" he asked, leaning forward to put his arm around Sammy and pull him closer. "What was scary?"

Two of the fattest tears Dean had ever seen rolled down Sammy's face.

_"I dunno."_

And then Sammy reached his arms up and - _dream or not_ - Dean pulled him in close to comfort him and to protect him. Sammy wrapped his arms around Dean's neck and burrowed his face into his shoulder, shuddering and sniffling and hanging on for dear life.

"Hey, hey, don't worry, Sammy. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. It's okay, there's nothing to be scared of."

"_Nuh unh." _Sammy insisted, with a long, long sniff. He sat back just enough to look Dean in the eyes. "_Clowns you said be scared of_."

"Oh, Sammy - that was just -." But Dean stopped. He could tell Sammy that clowns weren't scary, but then he'd have to admit he'd lied to Sammy all that time ago just because he wanted to go to Burger King when Sammy wanted to go to McDonald's. He couldn't let Sammy know his big brother _lied_. "Yeah, Sammy. That's right. Clowns are scary."

And Sammy nodded solemnly and reclaimed his spot against Dean's shoulder. His hands were warm around the back of Dean's neck and his little puffs of breath tickled at Dean's collar bone.

"So, it was clowns that scared you?" He asked, but Sammy shook his head.

"_I dunno."_

"Just something scary, hunh?"

And the vigorous nod of agreement was accompanied by another long sniff and a desperate squeeze.

"_Scary."_

"Okay, Sammy. Don't worry. There's nothing scary here." Dean looked over at _big_ Sammy, down for the count. "_At least, not right now."_

They stayed that way for a few minutes, Dean shushing and soothing, and Sammy slowly relaxing against him.

"So, how're we doing?" Dean asked after those few minutes. "Hunh? You feeling better?"

"Un hunh."

"Okay, good. So, why don't we see about getting some sleep, and maybe we'll both wake up where we belong."

He slid down against his pillows again, keeping Sammy with him, and pulled the bedspread over the both of them.

"It'll be okay, Sammy." He said it to the little bundle sleeping in his arms, _and _to the giant bundle sleeping in the next bed. "Everything is going to be okay."

In a few minutes, Dean was asleep.

to be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

When Dean woke up, he was alone in bed.

"Yep, like I thought - it was a dream. Crazy, whacky, stress induced -."

Movement on the other bed made him look over. There was little Sammy, on that bed, sitting back on his knees, staring at big Sam.

This was a really _weird _dream.

Sam - _big_ Sam - shifted in bed.

"Hey, don't wake - uh - _you_ - up. C'mere." Dean said and lifted Sammy away from Sam, sitting back down on his own bed holding him in his lap. Well, if this was a dream, maybe Sammy couldn't wake - _himself_ - up. If it wasn't a dream, maybe the painkiller was wearing off and Sam was waking up all on his own.

_But if it wasn't a dream, what was it? _

Sam only turned over, though, rolling onto his stomach, and stayed asleep.

Still a dream, then.

And a not-bad dream at that, Dean thought, with Sammy heavy, warm and familiar in his arms.

But something was wrong. When he looked down, Sammy's eyes were overflowing and his chin had that quiver again. Back at that age, age three or four, Sammy always cried loudest when things were easiest to fix. When he hardly made any sound at all, things were bad. And he wasn't making _any_ sound at all now.

"What is it?" Dean asked. He followed Sammy's gaze back over to Sam asleep in his bed. "It's okay, Sammy. He's okay. _You're_ okay. Just sleeping. Like _we_ should be. He's asleep."

But Sammy shook his head and shivered in Dean's arms.

"_Scary._" He whispered. "Is _scary._"

"What's scary?"

"_I dunno!_" Sammy answered like he'd been asked it a million times and was tired of it. "_Is scary!"_ And his resolve broke into hiccupped sobs and he didn't even reach up for Dean, he only leaned against him like he was exhausted and broken, shivering and hiccupping and breaking Dean's heart.

"_Okay, Sammy. Okay." _

Dean stood up and shifted Sammy to his shoulder, where he wouldn't see Sam, who was still just asleep, breathing easily, wrapped around in the blanket that had rolled with him when he turned over.

Just looking at Sam, it was hard to believe he had a live time bomb ticking away inside his head. Twice now a brick had fallen off the "Great Wall of Sam" that was supposed to be keeping hell back; who knew how many more bricks there were, and each one just waiting to fall and let through another blast of hellfire.

It wasn't just the seizures that scared Dean, and knowing that each one brought Sam that much closer to emotional annihilation, it was the thought that one could happen when Sam was driving, or taking a shower, or about to face down a monster, or standing in line to get them coffee, or just anytime Dean wasn't around or couldn't get to him fast enough to protect him.

It was like Sam had friggin' just been diagnosed with epilepsy and Dean had to start thinking about medic-alert bracelets, high-fat diets, making there was never locked a door between them, and maybe getting a dog that could sense seizures before they happened.

"Life's just never easy, is it?"

On his shoulder, Sammy sniffled and coughed and whimpered, "_Scary,"_ shaking and clinging to Dean.

"Okay, Sammy. Okay." Dean soothed. He rubbed Sammy's back and started pacing back and forth across the narrow motel room, hoping to calm him down. "Everything's OK. Just relax. Just go to sleep. Okay? Go to sleep, Sammy."

"Is scary, Dean. Is _scary_."

"No, nothing's scary. How can anything be scary when I'm around? Hunh? I'm your awesome big brother. Right? Don't I always take care of you?"

He felt the nod and the squeeze. Heard the little voice say,

_"Sorry."_

"No, don't be sorry. It's okay to be scared." Dean started lightly bouncing Sammy in his

arms. He seemed to remember the motion from when Sammy really was this size and needed to be cuddled and soothed. "Don't be sorry."

Sniffle, "_'kay,_" squeeze.

"Okay." Dean said. He smiled; dream or hallucination or whatever this was, Sammy was just the same here as he was then. Easy to soothe, easy to placate. Easy to carry close and protect. Dean only had to say it, and it was so.

Another look to _big _Sam made Dean sigh.

"I wish it was still that easy. But _no, _you had to grow up stubborn and angry. And bossy when I let you get away with it. But you know what?" He leaned his head back a little to get a better look at the shaggy head pressing down on his shoulder. "I've never met anybody better than you, you know that? No matter what."

He didn't really expect an answer, and all he got was the grumble of an empty little stomach.

"You're _hungry_? Really? In a dream, you're _hungry_?"

"M'ungry." Sammy nodded.

"Okay, let's see what we've got." Dean carried him over to the cupboards in the kitchenette.

"I know we had some crackers, maybe some of that spray cheese. I think I'll save the beer until you're at least fourteen..."

He scanned the fridge and then opened the cupboard. An unopened box of Lucky Charms stood on the middle shelf.

"Okay, now I know I'm in a dream because we did not have these the last time I looked in here."

Sammy lifted a wobbly head and reached an arm toward the cupboard.

"That. Wan' that."

"Okay, Lucky Charms it is." One handed, Dean popped the box and the wax wrapper inside, and poured a couple handfuls into a used waxed cardboard coffee cup. "C'mon, let's get comfy on the bed."

He sat on the bed, back against the headboard and set Sammy on his lap, with his little back resting against Dean's bent knees. Dean offered him the cup of cereal.

"Have at it."

Dean held the cup while Sammy ate pinchfuls of cereal and marshmallow bits out of it, and he looked over at Sam. He was still turned onto his stomach, rolled in his blankets, asleep. When he woke up in the morning, he'd say he was fine. He'd drink his coffee and eat his breakfast not wanting to talk about his latest flashback. He'd find - or push Dean to find - the next hunt. And in a couple of hours they'd be back on the road, each mile and each minute taking them closer to the next break in the wall.

"_Scary._"

Dean looked back at Sammy, who was staring at Sam.

"You think he's scary when he's sleeping, you should see him when he's upright and _pissed_."

Sammy turned big, teary eyes to him. He stared at Dean so long, Dean ran a finger around one chubby cheek and asked,

"_What_?"

"Don't be scared." Sammy said.

"Me? You think _I'm _scared?"

"Uh hunh."

"Scared of what?"

And the little shoulders shrugged.

_"I dunno."_

And another pinchful of cereal got eaten.

Dean patted a finger against the hand Sammy wasn't using to eat the cereal, and Sammy responded by wrapping his little hand around Dean's finger and holding on.

"Don't be scared, Dean." He said again, around a mouthful of cereal crumbs "'kay?"

"Have you ever seen me scared, Sammy?"

_"Un hunh."_

"When?" But then Dean considered who he was talking to. "Do you mean _your_ me, or me-me?"

Sammy laughed, scrunching his face in delight the way he used to at that age. When he used to laugh. "You said _Mimi_." Then he laughed again.

"I said _'me-me'_." Dean said it again, leaning close to Sammy then pulling back fast as he said it.

"_Mimi_." Sammy said. He leaned closer and pulled back too, and laughed again.

"_Me-me." _

_"Mimi._"

It was good to see Sammy happy, and about something so innocent and silly as a funny sounding word. Even if he was a dream or an hallucination, or a figment of Dean's exhausted, anxious imagination. It was nice to hear genuine, giddy, laughter.

"Hey, don't I get any of those?" He asked, when Sammy went back to eating the cereal.

"What is this - one dog, one bone?"

And Sammy laughed, and held out a pinchful of cereal, and Dean leaned forward to eat it out of his fingers. He figured they'd eat some cereal and try for some more sleep, and if Sammy was still here when he woke, then Dean would look into getting some help solving this, get Sammy back where he belonged.

Sammy laughed and offered him more cereal, and Dean couldn't decide if he hoped Sammy was still here or not when he woke up again.

to be continued


	3. Inside Sam's Mind

It felt to Sam like somebody was trying to rip his sinuses out through the back of his head. The bed dipped, the room spun, his vision swam and his eyes weren't even open. Suffering a replay of two weeks of hell was bad enough without the post-hell hangover.

Dean finally convinced him to take the illicit 'effective' drugs he'd picked up at that roadside coffee hut in Rhode Island. And they were _effective. _He'd pretty much slammed asleep one blink to the next. They must've worn off though and he'd been slammed awake again.

Right back into the headache.

"Dean?"

_"Hmm?"_

Sam was going to ask for more painkillers, but Dean's voice sounded weird, and he opened his eyes for a look. There was teenage Dean, probably around fourteen, sitting on the edge of Sam's bed. And there was full grown Dean, sitting up, asleep in his own bed.

"Those drugs are better than I thought."

"_Drugs_?" Teenage Dean asked, his eyebrows going high in surprise. "I guess that explains the bang-up job you did dressing yourself this morning."

"What? What're you - ?" Sam lifted a wobbly head and looked down himself. T-shirt, blue jeans, white socks. "What d'you mean?"

_"Uhh - socks?"_

Dean turned to look towards Sam's feet and Sam followed where he was looking. Two white socks, but one of them had a gray stripe at the toes and the other one didn't.

"Oh."

"You _did_ put on clean underwear this morning, didn't you?"

"Ohh - bite me." Sam said and collapsed back onto the pillow. He turned over onto his stomach, hoping the change in position would quell the vertigo.

"_Ahem?"_

Sam sighed. Teenage, grown up, dream, hallucination, whatever, Dean was Dean, and he was waiting for an answer.

"_Yes._ I put on clean underwear this morning. Now, _go away_."

"The head's no better?" Dean asked.

"Feels like acid reflux on the brain."

_"Nice." _The bed shifted, Dean moved closer and Sam felt a warm hand grip his neck.

"Stop it - don't touch me." Sam tried to push at the hand, but it didn't move. "My head's falling off as it is."

"Relax, Princess. Your neck feels like it's in a vice. Stress always goes straight to your spine. Give me a chance to work it out."

"_Dean_ -"

"C'mon, Sam. You know you'll feel better."

Sam sighed and gave in.

"Okay, yeah, whatever."

It was a dream anyway, teenage-Dean being here, or a drug-induced hallucination, so _whatever_. But dream-Dean had fingers just as strong as real-Dean ever had and he knew just where to press, into all the little bundles of inflamed nerves along Sam's neck and spine. Warmth spread from where Dean's fingers pressed, up Sam's neck and along his shoulders and down his back and arms.

"Ohhh yeahhh…"

"Told you." Dean said, sounding just as smug as he ever did when he was right. His fingers kept pressing all the right spots and Sam kept melting into his pillows.

"_Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."_

After just a few minutes of the massage, Sam's headache eased off. Maybe next time he'd try this again.

If teenage Dean showed up again next time.

"Where'd you come from?" Sam managed to ask and got a groan of dismay in replay.

"Dude, _c'mon_. Didn't Dad like already have that conversation with you? The Michelin Man brings the babies and leaves them in the garage."

That made Sam laugh out loud.

"Ha. Yeah. I forgot about that. _You_ told me that, not Dad. _He _gave me the closer-to-reality version. I _mean_ – where did you come from _just now_. How are you here when you're over there in bed asleep?"

There was a considerable pause while Dean's fingers found another knot of stress between Sam's shoulder blades. Sam finally lifted his head enough to look back.

"Dean?"

Teenage Dean shrugged and kept pressing his thumbs into Sam's spine.

"_I'm always with you. Didn't you know that?" _

Sam looked back over his shoulder to Adult Dean still asleep on his own bed. He was still mostly upright. Even exhausted, Dean couldn't, wouldn't, let himself relax completely, because he had to keep watch on Sam.

"You shouldn't be." Sam said to Teenage Dean.

"I shouldn't be this awesome either. But some things, Sammy, are just meant to be."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Sam put his head back down into his pillow and Dean kept massaging his spine.

"So – what else is going on?" Dean asked.

"If you're always with me, then you should know." Sam answered and Dean dug his fingers in a little too hard. "_Hey_."

"Can it, College Boy, and tell me what's going on."

"Just a headache."

"_And?"_

Sam didn't answer right away, because he didn't want to say it out loud. Or maybe because there was too much to say. Or maybe because there was only one thing to say.

"I'm scared."

The massaging fingers digging into his spine turned into soothing hands running over his shoulders.

"Yeah. I know you are." Dean said. "I can always tell." He stopped his massage and laid one hand heavy and warm in the middle of Sam's back. "So - what're you scared of?"

Sam had to try a couple of times before he could get his voice to work.

"I'm scared that all this will get too much for you. That you'll rather have the life that you gave up because you had to take care of me."

"I never _had_ to take care of you. I always _wanted_ to."

"Hmpf - Hobson's Choice." Sam muttered.

"Hey, are you calling me a horse?" Dean asked, then added, "No, wait. You're calling yourself a horse, aren't you? What does that make you? About nineteen hands high?"

"Stop joking."

"Who's joking?" Dean massaged Sam's spine again, gently. "A hand is four inches. Times nineteen is seventy-six inches. Which in human terms is… Hmmm? Sammy?"

"Ugh, all right. You're right. God, you're so annoying."

Dean laughed the laugh that meant he'd won. He gave one last gentle dig under Sam's shoulder blades, then stood up.

"_Hey -._" Sam turned to that side of the bed. Dream or hallucination, he didn't want to lose this Dean so soon.

"Relax, Princess. I'm not leaving." Dean said. "I'm straightening your blankets. You always get them tangled up. You're the only kid I ever knew could toss and turn the sheet off of _hospital_ bed. Let me get these straightened."

He tugged and pulled and Sam had to shift until Dean had the top sheet and blanket out from under Sam. When they were free, he pulled them up over Sam's shoulders, then sat next to Sam again.

"You need to go back to sleep now, Sammy. Okay?"

Sam shook his head.

"No. No, I don't want to."

"Yes you do." Dean told him. "You need to. Those drugs have a long after burn. You need to sleep them off."

Well – Sam sure couldn't argue with that.

"But – I mean – are you - ?"

Dean smiled and ran his fingers into Sam's hair at the nape of his neck.

"I'm here, Sammy. I told you –I'm always here. Go to sleep."

"Yeah. Okay…"

Sam closed his eyes and was gone.

To be continued…


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: Just a reminder: There's going to be a fanfic author's convention in Roanoke, VA on July 16th. "Your favorite authors and their favorite fans, face to face for their favorite charities.". For more information, go to: www dot xenascully dot com. I've been waiting for someone to do this - I can't wait to get there. I hope you'll be there too!

* * *

The Lucky Charms were gone and the used coffee cup was sitting on the bedside table. Sammy still sat in Dean's lap, resting against Dean's bent knees. He had one of Dean's index fingers in each of his chubby fists. He was looking kind of droopy.

Dean thought about tucking them both in to sleep again, but he liked just sitting, watching Sammy play with his hands, watching him pull his hands close and look at them, then shake them, one at a time, then both together, and then he'd laugh.

Yeah, Dean could spend a little more time, just sitting here, enjoying Sammy enjoying himself.

Then, with a suddenness Dean remembered from twenty-five years before, Sam dropped his fingers, and pushed off his lap.

_"Gotta go bathroom." _

"Okay." Dean stood up from the bed. "You need help in there?"

_"I do it!" _Sammy insisted, arms crossed, giving Dean an indignant glare. Dean held his hands up in surrender.

"Okay, just checking. Go ahead."

As Sammy trundled off to the bathroom, Dean checked on Sam. He didn't think - not anymore - that he was stuck in a weird dream. He wasn't sure _what _he was stuck in, but even if he wasn't stuck anywhere, he'd be checking on Sam.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed and reached over to feel Sam's forehead. When he was coming down from the seizure, Sam had been cold and clammy, with a heart rate in the low hundred and tens. Now, he was warm and okay.

"Go 'way." Sam said into his pillow, sounding groggy and annoyed. "So what if my socks don't match? Who's gonna see 'em anyway? Go 'way."

Dean looked at Sam's feet, expecting a white and a black sock, but he only saw two white socks. So what was Sam talking about? Except - Dean looked again and saw that one sock had a gray heel and one didn't. So _Sam _was wearing mismatched socks, like _Sammy_ was.

_Weird._

Just to check, Dean peeled back the bedspread, but both of Sam's shirts were right side out.

"I did too put clean underwear on this morning." Sam muttered.

"Dude, too much information." Dean said as he tucked the bedspread back around Sam. "Go back to sleep. Wouldn't want you to see yourself. That might be crossing the streams."

"Hunh?"

Sam turned his head to look at Dean but squeezed his eyes shut and turned back into the pillow with a muffled grunt of pain.

"Head's no better?" Dean asked.

"_Is like acid reflux on the brain_." he slurred into his pillows.

"Nice visual. Want another pill?"

When Sam didn't answer, Dean thought - hoped - he'd gone back to sleep.

"Sorry y'always had t'take care of me."

"I never took care of you because I _had _to." Dean said. "I always took care of you because I _wanted _to."

Sam didn't answer for a short space again. Then he said,

"It was worse this time."

Dean knew that. Sam had been out longer this time. Twice as long as last time. So he'd spent _two weeks _back in hell this time.

"So -." Sam started and stopped and took a deep breath that might've been a sigh. "It'll probably be even worse next time."

Dean rubbed Sam's arm.

"I'll be here next time, too."

"_I know." _Sam said, and Dean could hear the relief and confidence in his voice. Then Sam reached up and patted Dean's hand on his arm. He wrapped his hand around Dean's index finger for a few seconds then let go with a sigh and relaxed into his pillows.

Just like that he was asleep.

The flush of the toilet reminded Dean of his _other_ Little Brother. He double tucked the blankets around Sam and went to check on Sammy. He found him at the sink, stretching up, trying to reach the faucet.

"Need a hand there?"

"Nuh - I got it." Sammy said, the strain of his effort sounding in his voice. He was on his tiptoes, arm stretched as far as it could go and then some and still falling short of the faucet, with the tip of his tongue just poking out at the corner of his mouth.

"Okay, if not a hand, how about two arms?" Dean asked, and scooped Sammy up so he could reach the faucet and soap. When the little hands were washed and dripping, Dean looked at both of them in the mirror. Sammy let himself be held there, looking up at Dean in the mirror, not squirming or whining to be let down.

"I'm sorry." Dean said. He hadn't meant to say it out loud. Sammy kept staring at him.

_"Don't be sad, Dean."_

"Can't help it sometimes, tiger. Just can't help it."

He set Sammy down and gave him a towel to dry his hands, then put his hand on Sammy's head to lead him back to the bed. Maybe he could get Cas to haul feathers down here to get Little Sammy back where he belonged, and see if he could make Big Sammy's headache go away.

Sam was still asleep as Dean and Sammy walked past. Dean wondered if Sam's head hurt even while he was asleep. If nightmares waited for him there in the darkness. If the nightmares took turns chipping away at the Wall.

Under his hand, Dean felt Sammy shudder.

"_Scary._" Sammy whispered, eyes wide staring at Sam, taking a wide berth around Sam's bed.

"What's scary?" Dean asked him. He lifted Sammy into his lap as he sat on his own bed. "Is there _anything_ you can tell me about what's scaring you?"

"Nuh unh." Sammy shook his head. "Is not scaring me. Is scaring _you_. _Is scary when you scared." _

"So - you're scared 'cause you think I'm scared of something? Hey, you know me, Sammy. I'm not scared of anything."

Sammy sniffed and rubbed his eyes with the sides of his hands. He slouched into a hunch and tilted his head up and pouted up at Dean.

_"You scared. _I don't like when_ you scared."_

Dean pulled him closer, feeling the little body still shuddering.

"What is it you think I'm scared of?"

Sammy took a deep breath and looked over at his full grown self asleep on the other bed. When he answered, he sounded like he was crying.

_"You scared of me."_

to be continued


	5. Chapter 4

Dean looked down at that chubby little face, where every emotion could be read just as soon as it was felt, looked at the little hands that even at three and a half had eagerly reached out to save wayward insects, the arms that always reached so easily for hugs and _'ups'_ from Dean and Dad.

_"You think I'm afraid of you?"_

Sammy's face scrunched up like he had to think about the question.

"Not 'fraid - _scared._" He clarified and Dean had to shake his head. Yep, even at three and a half, Sammy could be _so _precise with words and meanings.

"What's the difference?"

The scrunched face opened into wide eyes and another downturned pout.

_"Scared is bigger."_

Dean pulled him closer, scooping him up in his arms like he did when Sammy was a baby. He could feel the shudders running all through the warm, chubby, little body as Sammy turned towards him, pressing against him.

"Why do you think I'm _scared_ of you?"

Dean thought he might get the _'I dunno'_ answer again. But Sammy looked over his shoulder at Sam.

_"You scared."_

"Sammy, listen to me." Dean put his hand on Sammy's cheek to turn his face back. When the little eyes were fixed on his, he said, "I have never, _ever, _been scared of you. Not at any time, not at any size, not for any reason. How could I be scared of the best kid in the whole world?"

_"Nuh unh." _ Sammy insisted. "_Nuh unh_. You look, you scared." He gestured over to sleeping Sam. His voice became insistent, verging on tears of panic. "You scared. _You scared."_

Dean shushed him and held him tight. As Sammy's hands clung around his neck and his heartbeat quivered against Dean's chest, Dean looked at Sam.

Scared _of_ him? Scared of _Sam?_ _Never._ Scared _for _him, sure, every second of every day of every lifetime Dean had ever lived. But even at Sam's worst, even at his most incensed, blood-filled, violent, or even soulless self, Dean had never _feared_ Sam. Been aggravated at him, pissed, fed up, clueless, and pragmatic about him.

Never _scared._

If Sammy thought that Dean was scared of Sam, did it mean Sam thought it too?

_"Sammy?" _Dean shifted a little to get Sammy to look up at him. "Do you know what _he's _thinking?" He gestured with his head over to Big Sam. "Does he think I'm scared of him?"

Again, the little eyebrows pulled together because the _oversized-even-at-that-age_ brain had to think about it before answering. Sammy looked over at Sam and he thought, and the harder he thought, the faster his breath came, as though thinking was as taxing as running. Huge tears filled the little eyes again.

"What? What is it, Sammy? Do you know what he's thinking?"

"Uh hunh." Sammy nodded.

"What? What's he thinking?"

"He _sorry, _Dean. He _sorry._" He said it desperately, like he had to make Dean believe it or else.

"Sorry? Sorry for what?"

Sammy looked over at Sam again, his breath kept coming fast and agonized and his body shook like he was freezing. It felt to Dean like he was gearing up for either a blow up or a melt-down and he stood up and started pacing again, hoping to get Sammy's mind on something else.

"You know what? Never mind. Stupid question anyway. What _doesn't_ Sam feel sorry for, hunh? Never mind."

He paced and rubbed Sammy's back and held him close. This time though, Sammy wasn't as easy to soothe. He snuffled and sobbed and clung to Dean by arms and legs.

"Hey, hey, Tiger. It's okay, it's okay." Dean tried. "We're fine. We're okay. Everybody here is okay."

_"Nuh unh, nuh unh, nuh - nuh -."_

Sammy clung tighter and cried harder, wearing out, Dean knew from experience. He had to get him to go to sleep or he'd have an all-out melt-down.

"Okay, Sammy, okay. Shh, shhhh. Come on. You gotta calm down. You gotta get some sleep or you'll wake yourself up. Shh. Come on."

It didn't work though. Little Sammy sobbed and shook, until his voice started sounding hoarse. Time for the big guns.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed with Sammy in his arms to rock him back and forth.

And he sang.

"_Hey, Dude, don't make Dad mad_

_It's not a bad song, _

_but the Beatles sing it better.  
Remember not to put the horse before the cart_

_Then you can start_

_To make it better…"_

It actually started to work, Sammy started to calm down, coughing instead of sobbing, twitching instead of shaking.

"_Hey, Dude, you know jeans fade_

_They were made to_

_Wear out in washing_

_Remember to suture each layer of skin_

_Then you'll begin _

_to make it better…"_

Sammy was quiet then, dozing, so Dean skipped to quietly humming, _'na na na na…'_ until he was sure his little Little Brother was finally fully asleep.

Which apparently meant that it was time for his big Little Brother to wake up.

"Dean?" Sam asked, not lifting his head or looking back.

"Yeah?"

"How come everything is always so effed up?"

Risking crossing the streams, Dean took his bundle of Sammy and moved to sit on the edge of Sam's bed.

"Because we keep fighting long after any sane person would call it quits."

"Why do we keep fighting?"

"Damned if I know."

Sam was quiet after that, though Dean could see his eyes were open.

"Head still bad?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. He gave a fast glance over his shoulder to Dean, and he stared a minute, at Dean and at Little Sammy, a puzzled look on his face. "Those drugs have a really long after-burn, don't they?" He asked, then settled back into his pillow and made no other comment. He didn't close his eyes.

Dean set Little Sammy on his bed, pulled the bedspread over him and boxed him in with his two pillows. Then he grabbed a bottle of _less-effective_ painkillers and a glass of water and brought them to the far side of Sam's bed.

"Hey." He sat down on the mattress. "Here, take a couple of these. Take the edge off of your _sludge_."

"_Mmmm…" _Sam pushed himself up on his elbow and took the pills and the water. He handed the glass back and laid down again. "Thanks."

"Sure…" Dean gave a glance over to Little Sammy, safe and sound and sound asleep in his bed. He thought about what Little Sammy had said. "Hey, Sam – _look_ – you know that none of this is your fault, right? You shouldn't be blaming yourself for anything that happened or is happening or might happen. Okay?"

Sam looked up at Dean for two –fifths of a second then looked anywhere else.

"Yeah, I know." He said. But it didn't sound like he was telling the truth. More like he was only saying it because he knew it was what Dean wanted to hear.

"But you still feel guilty – don't you?"

Well, that got Dean absolutely no answer out of Sam. "Okay. That's a big _yes_." He sighed and drank the water left in the glass. "So – _Sam_ –" He made sure to use the tone that used to always get him Sam's rapt attention. And sure enough, even after one hundred and eighty years of hell – or maybe _because_ of it, Dean thought – that tone still got Sam to focus everything on Dean.

"Yeah?"

And the _everything_ that Sam focused on him – the interest, the concern, the _trust_ – almost stopped Dean in his tracks. But he had to tell Sam this, he had to know that Sam knew.

"Sammy, I am not now - _nor have I ever been_ – afraid of you." He waited a few beats but Sam didn't say anything. "You know that, right?"

Sam pushed himself up to sitting. He looked puzzled, and concerned, and baffled. And tired and rumpled and half-hung-over from the drugs.

"Yeah, Dean. Yeah. Of course I know that." He said it quietly and emphatically and Dean knew that this time Sam was telling the truth. "Why are you asking me that?" Then his concern and puzzlement cleared into panic. "Did I do something? Dean? When I was out of it? Did I – did I say something or do something or –"

"No – no, Sammy." Dean said fast. "No, you didn't do anything but snore and drool." He smiled and Sam scowled. "I just – Sam, I just wanted us to be clear on that. Okay? I'm not afraid of you." He gave another glance over to Little Sammy. "I'm not _scared_ of you, either. Okay?"

And Sam blinked and nodded and blinked again.

"Yeah. Okay. Not afraid and not scared either. Okay. I got it." He wavered a little where he sat and looked a lot like his Little Sammy self when he asked Dean, "Can I go back to sleep now?"

Dean only barely managed to squash a laugh.

"Yeah. Yeah, Sam. You go back to sleep now. C'mon, lay down. Get covered up." Dean stood up and made sure the blankets were all in place as Sam laid down again. "You let me know if you need anything, right?"

"Yeah, okay. I will."

He settled in and closed his eyes and was gone with a sigh.

Dean looked over at his bed.

Little Sammy slept on.

(To be continued…)


End file.
